"He's a watch- and clock-maker, sir."
"'A said 'a was a wheelwright--a wicked rogue," said the constable.
"The wheels o' clocks and watches he meant, no doubt," said Shepherd
Fennel. "I thought his hands were palish for's trade."
"Well, it appears to me that nothing can be gained by retaining
this poor man in custody," the magistrate; "your business lies with
the other unquestionably."
And so the little man was released offhand; but he looked nothing
the less sad on that account, it being beyond the power of magistrate
or constable to rase out the written troubles in his brain, for
they concerned another, whom he regarded with more solicitude than
himself. When this was done, and the man had gone his way, the
night was found to be so far advanced that it was deemed useless
to renew the search before the next morning.
Next day, accordingly, the quest for the clever sheep-stealer became
general and keen--to all appearance, at least. But the intended
punishment was cruelly disproportioned to the transgression, and
the sympathy of a great many country folk in that district was
strongly on the side of the fugitive. Moreover, his marvellous
coolness and daring under the unprecedented circumstances of the
shepherd's party won their admiration. So that it may be questioned
if all those who ostensibly made themselves so busy in exploring
woods and fields and lanes were quite so thorough when it came to
the private examination of their own lofts and outhouses. Stories
were afloat of a mysterious figure being occasionally seen in some
old overgrown trackway or other, remote from turnpike roads; but
when a search was instituted in any of these suspected quarters
nobody was found. Thus the days and weeks passed without tidings.
In brief, the bass-voiced man of the chimney-corner was never
recaptured. Some said that he went across the sea, others that he
did not, but buried himself in the depths of a populous city.
At any rate, the gentleman in cinder gray never did his morning's
work at Casterbridge, nor met anywhere at all for business purposes
the comrade with whom he had passed an hour of relaxation in the
lonely house on the coomb.
The grass has long been green on the graves of Shepherd Fennel and
his frugal wife; the guests who made up the christening-party have
mainly followed their entertainers to the tomb; the baby in whose
honour they all had met is a matron in the sear and yellow leaf;
but the arrival of the three strangers at the shepherd's that night,
and the details connected therewith, is a story as well known as
ever in the country about Higher Crowstairs.